


Mendev

by RicochetRomance



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Chubby Anakin, Chubby Kink, Crack, Fix-It, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Rated to be Safe, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Weight Gain, chubby Obi-wan, obikin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 12:37:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15119564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RicochetRomance/pseuds/RicochetRomance
Summary: Obi-Wan gets some much-needed rest, Anakin is supportive, and Sidious screws himself over. You only WISH this was standard operating procedure.Please note that this is weight gain fanfiction - reader discretion is advised.





	Mendev

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Episode III.
> 
> I cried.
> 
> I wrote a thing.

Obi-Wan sank into the sofa with a groan of discomfort.

Literally sank. Here on Mendev, everything was ridiculously soft - the sofas, the beds, the carpets, and perhaps most importantly, the people. 

He loosened the belt that had been digging painfully into his stomach all evening. It didn't help nearly as much as he'd expected - with a resigned sigh, he removed it altogether. 

Mendev was the most agriculturally resource-rich planet in the known galaxy, and it showed. The native Mendevians were characterized by their soft, round forms - a trait which spread quickly and easily to non-native residents.

Obi-Wan gently ran his hands over his stuffed-full belly. Somehow it managed to feel both incredibly taut and incredibly soft, and he honestly wasn't sure which sensation he preferred. 

The Republic needed this alliance. Desperately. Trade with Mendev would ease wartime rationing and bring much-needed relief to planets plagued by famine. Hence why the negotiations had to be carried out by Obi-Wan Kenobi - the famed Negotiator himself.

Said negotiations had been dragging on for the better part of three Standard months, and they were characterized by large, frequent meals. 

Obi-Wan shouldn't have been remotely surprised when, less than a week into the mission, his body had begun to soften. But he had been surprised - he'd always had a reliably fast metabolism, and had been making a point to eat small, controlled portions.

If gaining a little weight didn't sound like an embarrassing enough predicament for the Temple's second-most-disciplined Jedi, no need to worry. It had gotten worse. 

Shortly thereafter, he had realized that his eating habits were actively hindering the negotiations - that restraint was seen as disrespectful to the bounty of the planet. To make further progress, he would need to eat as freely his hosts did.

Needless to say, his weight had snowballed from there. 

The Republic needed this alliance. Desperately. Obi-Wan reminded himself of that fact on a daily basis - but it didn't help to make his situation any less embarrassing. 

Several minutes into his impromptu stomach massage, he was finally feeling somewhat more comfortable. Comfortable enough to make his daily report to the Jedi Council.

Making doubly sure that the video function of the holo-communicator was set firmly in the "off" position, Obi-Wan reluctantly made the call.

Because the Force hated him, it was Mace who answered. "Kenobi," he acknowledged gruffly, cutting straight to the chase. "Have you made any progress?"

"Unfortunately not." Obi-Wan admitted. The negotiations had already been slow - as was Mendevian custom - but recently, they had been slowed even further. "We seem to have reached an impasse on import tariffs." 

"That's what I was afraid of," Mace sounded exasperated, and it was immediately clear why. "The Chancellor is growing impatient. He's asked for an additional Jedi to be assigned to your mission."

"I - I really don't think that will be necessary," Obi-Wan stammered, thankful that his flustered blush wasn't visible over the audio feed. "This impasse is only temporary - I have the situation well under control."

He didn't, not really, but there was absolutely no way in the Sith Hells that he'd ever allow another Jedi to see him in such an embarrassing predicament.

"It wasn't a suggestion." Mace replied flatly. "I've already sent Skywalker to your location." 

"You sent Anakin?!" Obi-Wan practically yelped. 

"At the time, he was our only available option. Is there a problem?" Mace asked, his tone dangerously patient.

"Not at all." Obi-Wan replied, his poised facade now firmly back in place. 

There was definitely a problem - Anakin was possibly the last person that he wanted to see him in this condition. His former padawan would never let him live this down, and once the inevitable gossip had spread, neither would the rest of the Jedi Order. 

"When can I expect him to arrive?" Master Kenobi crossed his fingers for a week or more. Long enough to find some way - any way - to rectify this situation.

Mace's answer was as unhelpful as it was cryptic, only a single word before he hung up the communication. 

"Soon."

-

"Soon" apparently meant fifty-three minutes. 

Fifty-three minutes in which he'd only managed to devise one lousy excuse for a plan. Perhaps he could conceal the changes by wearing traditional Mendevian garb? After all, it did tend to be fairly forgiving. 

His planning was interrupted by the soft, rhythmic tapping of clawtips on his door, which he recognized as the distinctive knock of his host's personal assistant.

Without a second thought, Obi-Wan opened the door - only to immediately regret it. "Master-who-is-Kenobi. Friend-that-is-Jedi has come for negotiations-that-are-trade. To share apartment-that-is-guest requests Senator-who-is-of-Mendev." 

With that grim pronouncement, the assistant stepped aside, revealing that Anakin was standing awkwardly behind them. Said assistant promptly bowed and disappeared, leaving the two Jedi alone in the hallway. 

For a long moment, Anakin was silent, gaping at his former master's soft body.

Obi-Wan was wearing his usual robes, but they fit very differently than the younger man remembered. The fabric bound tightly around the older man's rounded shoulders, and strained desperately across the older man's heavy belly. The length of the tunic did nothing to conceal his thickened thighs, and the neckline gaped partially open across his soft chest.

Obi-Wan had gained weight. A lot of weight. He looked relaxed, he looked comfortable, and perhaps most importantly, he looked kriffing gorgeous - like something out of Anakin's kinkier fantasies.

The younger man didn't even try to bite his tongue. "You've let yourself go, Master," he smirked.

The older man's glare could have killed a Sith Lord at seven paces. "Not another word." He snapped, gesturing his former padawan inside. 

Anakin belatedly (and somewhat guiltily) realized that his former master's Force signature was a tangled mess of embarrassment and shame - two emotions that a Jedi as perfect as Obi-Wan should never have any reason to feel. 

Eyeing his master's generous ass appreciatively as he followed the older man inside, the Chosen One decided that his assigned mission didn't matter. He had just found a more important one - proving to Obi-Wan that he was still the most gorgeous being alive. 

And if he was lucky, they might even violate a few statutes of the Jedi Code in the process.

-

It was Anakin's turn to collapse onto the couch, groaning with blatantly-exaggerated pain. 

"Ate too much," he admitted, head lolling back as he sprawled across the width of the sofa. 

Obi-Wan couldn't help but smirk. "I did warn you to pace yourself," he reprimanded, more than a little amused. 

His former padawan's first diplomatic meal on Mendev had been a spectacle, to say the least. Anakin had always had a voracious appetite, but he'd definitely outdone himself this evening. The younger man had somehow managed to eat even more than their hosts had. 

To say that the Mendevians were impressed was an understatement. Perhaps there was still hope for Anakin's future as a diplomat. 

"But you didn't warn me about the food," the younger man accused. "How the kriff can they make vegetables taste that good?" 

"Implying that you've ever actually eaten a vegetable before." Obi-Wan retorted.

This evening, his former padawan had eaten like a man possessed, absolutely stuffing himself with heaping platefuls of every (strictly vegetarian) dish the Mendevians had to offer. He'd likely eaten more vegetables in the last two hours than he had in his entire life - and Obi-Wan of all people should know.

"I have too," Anakin huffed with annoyance, too exhausted to muster a clever retort. 

"Fried potatoes don't count." The older man replied, lazily using the Force to shift his former padawan to the far end of the sofa. 

"They do so." The younger man grumbled. His former master was an impossible hypocrite sometimes - if Anakin even thought about using the Force that frivolously, he would have spent the next hour getting his left ear lectured off. 

Obi-Wan settled on the sofa beside him with a satisfied sigh, resting his hands on the stuffed curve of his belly, and Anakin couldn't bring himself to stay annoyed. Instead, a fond smile quirked his lips.

In that moment, Obi-Wan looked the way that he damn well deserved to look - fat and happy.

Seriously, though. The younger man hadn't seen his former master this relaxed in literal years. Insecurities aside, Obi-Wan was clearly enjoying the opportunity to indulge, whether or not he was willing to admit it. 

A crooked, sated smirk curved the older man's plump cheeks, taking the place of a worried frown that Anakin had frankly begun to assume was permanent. The comfortable slump of his rounded shoulders was refreshingly at odds with his usual tense posture, and there was something deeply reassuring about the gentle grumbling of his soft stomach, stuffed far too full of delicious Mendevian cuisine.

After all, it meant that the older man wasn't going to suddenly pass out over his paperwork again - or in the middle of a heated spar again, or in the depths of his meditation again - simply because he'd been too preoccupied to eat properly.

Yes. Obi-Wan deserved this. 

A faint beeping sounded on Master Kenobi's datapad, but the older man barely even spared the screen a glance as he turned it off.

"So, what's the alarm for?" Anakin had never been one to deny his curiosity.

"Simply a reminder," Obi-Wan replied. "The next round of negotiations will begin within the hour."

"And by negotiations, you mean -"

"Exactly." The older man chuckled. "I did warn you to pace yourself."

The Chosen One groaned, but neither of them could truly say whether it was with trepidation or anticipation. All Obi-Wan could hope was that this time, Anakin would actually listen to his former master's advice. 

-

Anakin never listened - by this point it was practically a fundamental law of nature - and this time, his groan of pain wasn't even slightly exaggerated. 

"Really ate too much," the younger man was curled in on himself, holding his swollen belly as though he was afraid it might burst.

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose, thoroughly exasperated and in no way inclined to spend the entire night listening to his former padawan whine. 

"There are techniques that can help," the older man began, then cut himself off. "But you've made it quite clear that you're done listening to my lectures."

It was true - Anakin had been unusually harsh this past year when it came to accepting his former master's advice, never mind learning entirely new techniques. Obi-Wan swore that when he got his hands on whichever feckless idiot had prompted this change in demeanour, he would promptly violate several core tenants of the Jedi Code. Regardless of what Anakin may have been influenced to believe, learning was a lifelong endeavour, and -

"Show me?" The younger man's plea abruptly interrupted the older man's train of thought.

"If you insist," Obi-Wan tried to hide his smug smirk, but didn't remotely succeed. 

Reaching over, the older man pried his former padawan's hands from their tight grip on his belly, and replaced them with his own.

"It's a form of massage," Obi-Wan explained, feigning expertise. He'd only devised this technique a few months ago, and it was horrifyingly unorthodox. "Move your hand over the area in a slow circular motion, and focus on tapping in to the healing properties of the Force. Your hand will act as a natural conduit, and the pain should subside fairly quickly."

He provided a short demonstration, channeling the Force through his hands as he gently massaged his former padawan's stuffed belly. Or rather, he intended it to be a short demonstration. 

"Don't stop," Anakin groaned, pouting endearingly as he leaned into the older man's touch. Oh, the things that he could convince Obi-Wan to do with that pout - and he damn well knew it. 

"This is supposed to be a learning experience," his former master reprimanded, but there was no conviction to it.

"I'm too full to learn. And too tired." Anakin faked an unconvincing yawn.

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, continuing his gentle ministrations. The things he did for his former padawan - frankly, Anakin was spoilt. Still, there was something undeniably satisfying about watching the younger man turn into a contented puddle beneath his hands, about the sight of him sprawled halfway across the older man's soft body and practically nuzzling his plump cheek.

It was the kind of intimate bliss that would have given Master Windu an aneurysm - that is, until Anakin laid his own hand on Obi-Wan's belly. There were no words for how amazingly soft it felt, and the younger man couldn't resist the urge to give the flesh a gentle squeeze. 

The older man stiffened, subtly pulling away from the touch. His Force signature radiated insecurity and guilt - he hadn't particularly wanted a reminder of his own embarrassingly soft state. 

In response, Anakin radiated back a few emotions of his own - acceptance, reassurance, and a healthy dose of admiration. Obi-Wan was perfect like this. He looked perfect, he felt perfect, and he had no reason whatsoever to feel so cripplingly insecure. 

As the younger man's emotions washed over him, his former master relaxed back into the sofa, his tension easing. As incomprehensible as it seemed, Anakin accepted his body - more than that, he actually found it appealing. 

There was no accounting for taste. 

Obi-Wan grudgingly allowed his former padawan to touch and tease, to continue his exploration of the changes that months of overindulgence had wrought. It was their first such mutual massage, and both men knew that it definitely wouldn't be their last.

Face hidden in the crook of his former master's neck, Anakin couldn't help but smirk. The first phase of his personal mission was almost complete. 

-

Seated on a plush divan at this morning's third negotiation table, Obi-Wan thanked his lucky stars that the Mendevians were not a Force-sensitive species. 

Anakin had never made much of an effort to control his thoughts, and lately it seemed that he had stopped trying altogether. At present, his explicit fantasies regarding his former master were radiating through the Force around them - and said fantasies were incredibly detailed. 

"Anakin," the older man hissed, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Control yourself."

"Why start now?" The Chosen One smirked back, demonstratively licking fruit preserves from his fingertips.

"You know exactly what I mean," Obi-Wan retorted. Anakin's appetite for Mendevian cuisine, while alarming, was perfectly acceptable. It was his other appetite that was causing problems.

Problems that included routinely awakening in a comfortable embrace in a shared bed, unashamedly providing detailed lessons on kissing techniques, discovering thirty-seven intimate uses for melted chocolate, and otherwise blatantly and flagrantly violating the Jedi Code.

The Mendevians knew nothing of the Code. All they saw was the natural development of a deeply affectionate relationship - a relationship between the first two foreign diplomats to have ever demonstrated proper respect for the bounty of their planet. 

Senator-who-was-Eros cast a glance across the negotiation table at the two humans. Master-who-was-Kenobi was glaring at Jedi-who-was-Skywalker, once again reprimanding the younger human for supposedly inappropriate behaviour. In response, Jedi-who-was-Skywalker simply took a ripe berry from the morning-dish-that-was-traditional and pressed it between the older human's lips. 

Senator-who-was-Eros nodded sagely. Not only were these diplomats-who-were-human openly respecting the bounty of planet-that-was-Mendev, they were also proving intuitively adept at Mendevian rituals-that-were-for-courtship. The time finally seemed right to take another small step forward in negotiations-that-were-trade. 

"Master-who-is-Kenobi," the Mendevian interrupted the intimate moment, nose twitching with amusement as the older man nearly choked on the fruit that Anakin had fed him. 

"Yes, Senator Eros?" Obi-Wan recovered smoothly, addressing his host in a cordial tone. 

"Council-that-is-government has made a decision on tariffs-that-are-for-imports. Fraction-that-is-one-fifteenth will be acceptable." 

The Mendevian spoke solemnly, but there was mischief in their eyes. The decision had actually been reached several days ago, but these negotiations were proving to be far too enjoyable not to prolong.

"This is excellent news, Senator," Obi-Wan acknowledged, aiming a kick at Anakin under the table. Diplomats were absolutely not supposed to fist-pump. 

"Moving to the next item on the agenda, what is the Council's stance on the subsidization of trade goods?"

The younger man groaned, stuffing another fluffy, pastry-like confection into his mouth. His former master was being boring again. Was it really too much to ask to eat the morning's third meal without talking about politics?

At least Obi-Wan's reactions to public affection were becoming increasingly positive - he could safely say that the second phase of his personal mission was well underway. 

-

The negotiations were once again progressing, thanks in large part to Anakin's continued enthusiasm for every aspect of Mendevian cuisine. Progressing slowly, mind you. It had been nearly five Standard weeks since Anakin had joined his former master on Mendev, and there were still a fair handful of details to be resolved. 

Including how exactly the two men were going to hide their significant weight gain from the Jedi Council.

Yes, Anakin had also gained a great deal of weight these last few weeks - not particularly surprising given the reckless way that he ate. He had quickly given up on wearing a belt, and his soft belly was already threatening to rival his former master's in size. 

If one were to be brutally honest, Mendev was a lazy, undisciplined planet, and that attitude had gradually influenced even the Jedi themselves. Only a few months ago, Obi-Wan would have been unable to fathom an entire afternoon spent napping on a sofa, with Anakin's arms comfortably embracing his generous belly, feeling so full and content that even the wrath of a Sith Lord could scarcely budge him. 

This afternoon, however, Master Kenobi was doing exactly that - and a certain Sith Lord was indeed feeling wrathful. 

For weeks now, the Force had been radiating affection and contentment across half the damn galaxy, and it was downright nauseating to any seasoned practitioner of the Dark Side. 

There had been a fundamental shift towards the Light, and Darth Sidious wanted answers - right this instant. 

"Darth Tyranus," the older Sith Lord snapped, looming over his kneeling apprentice from the holo-communicator on his desk. "Have your spies reported anything of value?" 

His tone held the promise of pain, and Tyranus forcibly suppressed a wince. The aforementioned spies had given him their full report in the early hours of the morning, and his master would be infuriated by every last word of it. 

"Simply put, the Chosen One's influence over the Force is far greater than we had assumed." Tyranus began. 

It said a great deal about Lord Sidious’s current state of mind that he didn't bother to reprimand his apprentice for his presumptuous use of the term "we". 

"Explain yourself," the older Sith demanded. 

"Skywalker is currently on Mendev. Under the planet's influence, his shields have fallen, and his emotions are affecting the balance of the Force." This time, Darth Tyranus did wince.

"Do you mean to tell me," Lord Sidious rasped incredulously, "that Skywalker is happy?" 

He could easily believe the true extent of the Chosen One's influence. What he couldn't believe was that Anakin Skywalker, the unstable mess of a Jedi whom he had been manipulating for the better part of a decade, still retained the capacity to feel anything other than uncertainty and angst. 

"How is this possible?" The older Sith demanded, his tone growing increasingly frustrated.

"He is with Kenobi." Darth Tyranus explained. "The two are exploring a newfound..." he coughed uncomfortably "... fetish." 

Darth Sidious abruptly hung up, and his apprentice breathed a sigh of relief. That conversation had been going nowhere pleasant - he would rather have fallen on his own lightsaber than delved any further into the disgusting details. 

In the Chancellor's office, Darth Sidious gave what could best be described as a yell of frustration, slamming his fist down onto the delicate glass of his desk. Glass which promptly shattered, lacerating the wrinkled flesh of his hand. 

An explosion of frustrated rage and pain, of pure Dark Side energy, burst through the Sith Lord's nigh-impenetrable shields. Decades upon decades of schemes upon schemes and plots upon plots were collapsing around him. All because the Chosen One was some sort of -

"Pervert." Lord Sidious spat, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Many of his ridiculously circuitous plans had been dashed to pieces, but a few remained intact - easily enough to accomplish his goal of establishing a galactic Empire under his unilateral control. 

In the emptiness of the Senate building on a civic holiday, no-one heard the exclamation or the shattering of glass from inside the Chancellor's office. In the council chambers of the Jedi Temple quite literally down the street, however, every assembled Master felt the wave of unbridled rage explode out into the Force.

As the metaphorical dust settled, Master Yoda spoke - a simple pronouncement that would change the fate of the galaxy.

"Revealed himself, the Sith Lord has." 

-

"Anakin," Obi-Wan groaned drowsily. He had just been awoken by a decidedly pleasant sensation - the younger man gently toying with the soft flesh of his side.

"Oh, you're finally awake?" His former padawan teased, giving the older man's side a playful pinch. 

"I'm still debating it," Master Kenobi retorted, catching the younger man's wrist and using it as leverage to pull Anakin further on top of him. There was something incredibly satisfying about the full weight of his former padawan's body, especially when it was pinning him against the softest couch in the known galaxy. 

The Chosen One happily obliged, nuzzling his plump cheek into the crook of his former master's neck. "Mendev suits you," the younger man observed.

It really did. There was so much more of Obi-Wan to cuddle, and all of it was so incredibly soft. His former master had become the perfect pillow. 

The older man didn't even flinch at the insinuation. "Not half as well as it suits you," he replied, resting his hand on his former padawan's comfortable belly. It still felt taut and stuffed beneath his fingers, never mind that it had been hours since their last round of negotiations. 

Anakin may have been abusing their massage technique just the slightest bit, forcing himself full of impossible amounts of food just for the sheer pleasure of eating. Obi-Wan didn't begrudge him - Mendevian cuisine was practically a gift from the Force itself - but also didn't intend to sympathize in the slightest when Anakin realized just how quickly he was making himself fat. 

The holo-communicator on the side table chimed with an incoming call, and the older man answered it with a lazy nudge of the Force. He'd just gotten comfortable. 

"Obi-Wan speaking," the older man acknowledged. 

"Kenobi." The voice was Master Windu's, and it was as unamused as ever. "The Republic and the Separatists just called a ceasefire. What did Skywalker do this time?"

"Pardon?" Obi-Wan blinked uncomprehendingly. A ceasefire was an unprecedented step towards peace, but he and Anakin were practically on the other side of the galaxy. "I'm afraid he hasn't "done" anything." 

"The Chancellor has been outed as a Sith Lord. He orchestrated the war. It was a game to him, Kenobi, and we were all his pawns." Mace sounded vaguely shaken. 

Certainly, that was a lot of stunning information to process, but there was an obvious question that had to be asked. "And what does any of this have to do with Anakin?" Obi-Wan inquired sceptically.

"The Chancellor is in custody. When he was interrogated, his only coherent statement was that Skywalker had betrayed him." 

"What can I say?" Anakin interjected, his tone insufferably smug. "I'm just that good." 

"Skywalker." Mace snapped. "What did you do?"

"A 'thank you' would be nice." The young man retorted, in lieu of anything resembling a helpful answer. 

Before the conversation could escalate from sarcasm to argument, Obi-Wan interjected. "Master Windu. This is an unsettling revelation for all of us. Surely Anakin can present a written report at a later time?" A written report that he'd make doubly sure to edit for profanity and sarcasm. 

"I'll confer with the Council." Mace's tone was exasperated - for all that he may have wanted to argue the point, it was technically beyond his authority. 

"Is there anything else?" Master Kenobi inquired blandly. 

"One last thing." Master Windu paused, presumably for dramatic effect. "What in the Sith Hells happened to you two?"

For the first time during their conversation, Obi-Wan actually glanced in the direction of the holo-communicator - and abruptly went rigid with alarm. Because the Force truly hated him, the video feed had been operating this entire time. 

For once, the Negotiator was at a complete loss for words. He knew exactly how they must look - he was lying on a ridiculously plush sofa, Anakin was literally cuddled on top of him, and they were both still half-asleep. Not to mention the glaringly obvious.

In an instant, that poised facade was back in place. "Our negotiations have required us to adopt Mendevian customs." Obi-Wan replied smoothly. It wasn't technically a lie. "Negotiations that will be continuing within the hour. If that's all, Master Windu?"

"It is." With a curt nod, Mace hung up. 

For a moment, the room was silent. Then, Anakin burst out laughing. "Master, did you - did you just -"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Obi-Wan interjected innocently. What he'd "done" was proven that the third and final phase of Anakin's personal mission had been a complete success. 

The Jedi Council had effectively just discovered their substantial weight gain, and his former master had barely flinched. Even in the face of Mace Windu's most thoroughly disapproving glare, the older man's Force signature had remained confident and relaxed. In this state, Obi-Wan was easily the most gorgeous being alive, and Anakin had finally proven it to him. 

In lieu of an actual answer, Anakin merely gestured to their soft bodies. 

To their robes, which fit so badly that it was practically a war crime. To their plump faces, both well on their way to developing a second chin (Master Kenobi thanked the Force for the cut of his beard). To their rounded shoulders and arms that had grown thick with fat. 

To their heavy bellies, which now bulged prominently even when not stuffed achingly full (Anakin's belly was by this point barely even the slightest bit smaller than his master's). To the soft rolls of fat at their hips and along their sides, which Anakin was so inordinately fond of pinching. And, of course, to Master Kenobi's gorgeously round ass. 

As the pair appreciated one-another's comfortable bodies - bodies that would serve them well in times of peace - it abruptly occurred to Obi-Wan that his former padawan hadn't actually explained what he'd done to betray a Sith Lord. 

As he parted his lips to ask, a familiar alarm beeped on the older man's datapad, and his stomach twinged with an all-too-familiar pang of hunger. It was nearly time for the first round of evening negotiations.

The two men slowly disentangled themselves, and Anakin stole the opportunity to press a deep, affectionate kiss to his former master's still-parted lips. Intellectual curiosity abruptly fled Obi-Wan's mind, supplanted by another, equally familiar hunger. 

Yes. There would be plenty of time to discuss the fate of the galaxy after they'd indulged.

**Author's Note:**

> A close, Star-Wars-obsessed friend of mine accidentally stumbled across a draft of this fic. They no longer consider themselves my friend.
> 
> Was it worth it? I'd appreciate any feedback!


End file.
